Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance (6 page)

My heart sunk.

I remembered that moment. It wasn’t
just any cross. It was the necklace Granddad bought to
propose
to
Grandma. She was crushed when I said I’d never received it.

That was the day an eighty-year-old
woman cried in her granddaughter’s arms.

And now was when I realized it
wasn’t for the lost necklace. She had cried over her lost daughter.

If only she lived a while longer.
Now Mom was sober, healthy, and reliving her past with shattered pride and
humility.

Except I wasn’t ready to share in
that moment. My stomach turned, and the memory shattered too much inside me.
The group looked to Father Raphael to steal back the spotlight.

Judy hummed. “Right. Sins
like…those. They’re all forgiven, right, Father?”

I couldn’t handle their stares or
Mom’s pinching grip on my hand. I stood, murmuring enough to convince people I
needed to use the restroom.

Father Raphael watched me go, his
voice low and graveled with sincerity.

“Yes. All is forgiven.”

My angel believed
she’d fallen from grace.

But I knew she had
been sent to grant that grace to me.

It was my place to
attend the bible study, guiding the women of my parish as they debated and
researched their role in the church and community. Usually, I served them well.
Tonight, my thoughts drifted.

Dark. Dangerous.

Sinful.

Honor looked
beautiful.

I no longer focused
on the Bible in my hand. The conversation discussed one of the most important
quotes and aspects of our faith, but I didn’t hear it. I stared at Honor’s
empty seat and counted the seconds, breaths, aching pulses of my heart until
she returned.

The confessional
still haunted her, just as it moved me. I’d never purge the thoughts from my
mind, but I longed for the torment of her soft whimper. I knew it was wrong to indulge
in a moment of that agonizing perfection, but I still took satisfaction from
knowing the truth.

She’d orgasmed at
my command. 

I read the quote
again, memorized it, recited it to myself in English and Latin.

For all have sinned and come short
of the glory of God.

Some sinned willingly. Others
reluctantly. And some fell because they had no defense against the darkness
poised to steal their soul in the easiest, most sensual deceit.

My lust wasn’t about pleasure. I
was tempted to wield
power
.

I wanted to control her.

The minutes
passed, and I drove my nails into the Bible’s leather cover like it was tender
flesh. My impatience scarred the book. It had been a gift from Benjamin, and I
should have read the words until the urge to see her passed.

I failed once
more.

“I think you have
this well in hand.” I stood and glanced over the group. “Excuse me for a few
minutes. Keep the discussion going. I’ll be back to talk about what you think.”

The two
trouble-makers, Alyssa and Samantha, crossed and re-crossed their legs. They
offered me a glimpse of what was unshielded beneath.

Lust was a
powerful tormentor…but these corruptible women did not interest me.

So why did Honor
pain me with such desires? It was simple. She lived a life of virtue, honesty,
and integrity. It made her sin all the more meaningful.

Irresistible.

I should have returned
to my office. Or I should have left the church for the rectory and prayed.

But the heart
wanted what the heart wanted. If only I listened to it and not what lechery
hardened between my legs.

Honor hid within
the adoration chapel—a quiet room of medication and prayer separate from the
nave. The lights were dimmed so she might have lit a prayer candle if she
wished. Instead, she let the glow of her cell phone illuminate the room.

She wasn’t crying,
but I didn’t need tears to recognize when someone was lost.

Vulnerable.

My greatest
temptation wasn’t a woman whispering my name as she sated her desires. I
resisted then, but I couldn’t resist what called to me now. A beautiful woman who
needed my help.

She suffered
alone, frightened and confused. And somehow she made me more aware of the man
beneath the collar than any challenge yet to my ordination.

I should have left
her—recommended another priest to guide her through these feelings. But those
emotions and desires, wantings and memories were mine and mine alone.

It wasn’t temptation
to desire her. It was an obsession that would bind her to me—physically,
emotionally…spiritually.

And no matter what
I did, what comfort I gave, or how honestly I denied my own attraction, I lost
a piece of my soul when I surrendered to her in that mutual destruction.

I hesitated in the
entry and bowed to the monstrance, the displayed body of Christ nestled within
a golden vessel. The communion wafer, consecrated, tucked safely within the
glass for the pious to view and adore.

Please forgive
this weakness.
  

“Honor.”

She stood, her
hands tangling in her skirt, checking to ensure it was proper and modest.

If only she realized
how the motion drew more attention to the heavenly softness of her dark curves.

“Father
Rafe…Raphael.”

Any name or title
rolled from her lips as sweet as sugar.

“You left the
meeting,” I said.

“Yeah. I needed…to
think.”

“Can I help?”

“You?” She shook
her head. Dancing curls cascaded over her face. She tucked them behind her ear.
“No, Father. I doubt you can help.”

“May I try?”

Honor crossed her
arms as if it would hide her. “No. I shouldn’t speak with you.”

“Why?”

“Because, right
now? What I need most is for you to be just a priest again.”

The implication
stung. I gritted my teeth. “I
am
a priest, Honor.”

She shifted.
Awkward. Frightened?

“I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to insinuate…” She shook her head. “After what happened between us,
I’m not sure what to think.”

“It was just a mistake.”

“I don’t believe
that. Mistakes are accidental. This was…”

She quieted and
clutched her phone. I practically felt her prayer. She must have begged for a
text or call to buzz the iPhone so she’d have an excuse to run.

“I shouldn’t be
here,” she said. “I can’t be with you, Father. We can’t pretend this is innocent
now.”

And I doubted it’d
ever be innocent again.

But Honor needed
me. No one in my congregation deserved to be without hope.

I folded my hands,
catching the beads of my rosaries between my fingers. “Do you know…I’ve been
with this parish for three years?”

She wasn’t ready
for this impromptu lesson. I’d deliver it anyway.

“During my time
here, I’ve organized new groups. I’ve led prayers. I’ve helped with the
charities.” I gestured to the hall, back to the women’s group. “For three
years, I’ve tried to lead this congregation and introduce to them a sense of
community and selflessness and faith.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She must have
recognized the
fatigue
in my voice. Not surrender, but certainly not
optimism. I sighed. “Do you know what I learned, after all those hours and
plans and dreams for this parish?”

Honor shrugged.
“That…you could lead a horse to holy water, but…”

“Exactly.” I
smiled. “I wanted this congregation to examine themselves—to find reason in
their faith as well as their failings. Even the women’s group has spent weeks
reading and debating and researching every unique way they can serve the
church. Leadership, the ideals of femininity, rectifying church misogyny,
motherhood, healing, teaching, education, charity…”

“It’s noble,” she
said.

“Maybe. For three
years, I believed I was a positive influence on this church.”

“You don’t think
you’re doing a good job?”

Not anymore. “I
failed. Momentarily, I assure you. I don’t tolerate failure in myself.”

“But you haven’t
failed, Father.”

“Of course I have.
I’ve preached values and I’ve warned of vices, but I learned something in these
past few days.” I held her gaze. “I haven’t instilled a sense of
humility
in
my flock.”

“I know what
you’re trying to do,” she warned. “Please. Don’t try to comfort me.”

“No one is alone
in this world, my angel.”

“Father—”

“No one is without
sin, just as no one is unforgiveable. You do not suffer from temptations now,
but an excess of pride.
Everyone
sins, and I won’t allow any of my flock
to doubt themselves or their worth. No matter the cause.”

Even if it was my
own doing.

I gestured to the
pew. Honor hesitantly sat, her fingers tapping the wooden bench. Even in
uncertainty, this woman embodied innocence, elegance, and gentleness. She swept
her hair from her face, and a slight, grateful smile graced her lips.

It was enough to
damn me.

I wanted this
woman. To touch. To protect.

To possess.

The cassock
covered most of me, but I wasn’t comfortable standing before this angelic woman
with her almond eyes and honey-sweet lips.

She’d ruin me. At
least if my heart stopped, if it finally ceased its rapid punishment against my
chest, my final moments would be blessed by her beauty.

“May I sit?” I asked.

Neither of us knew
which answer was right. Refusing would admit prior guilt. Accepting would
welcome new.

She nodded.

I sat, placing an
imaginary Bible length between us. Her hands pressed against the wooden bench.
Flat. Still trembling.

Little novice.
When confronted with sin, it was best to wield a weapon. I carried rosaries.

If only I might
have felt her warm hand instead of the cold beads.

“Do you really
want to listen?” she asked. “Do you really want to know what made me leave the
meeting?”

“More than
anything.”

She hesitated
until the sigh wove over her. “Then you have to know. First and foremost, my
mother isn’t a bad person.”

She spoke it like
a confession. No—she whispered as if she didn’t believe it herself.

She looked away. It
might’ve made it easier to minister to her then, but it didn’t ease my
breathing…or my conscience.

She smelled of
candied apples, and her teeth nibbled on a plumb bottom lip. I wondered if she
ached for the sting of a bite or the soft caress of a kiss.

I forced myself to
speak. “I understand.”

“Even when she was
sick—” Her gaze slipped to mine for the briefest of moments. “That’s what my
Dad called it, when she wasn’t sober.
Sick
.”

“It’s true.”

“The pain killers
and the alcohol made her a bad person.” She frowned. “No. It made her a
reckless
person.”

“Addiction is a serious
illness…” I edged closer, shielding her from grief and yet savoring her warmth,
her scent, her
beauty
. “Addiction affects more people than the one
suffering from it.”

Didn’t I know it?

Couldn’t I feel
it?

Every second I
strained
at her side. I prayed in silence and sang with the melody of her voice. My gaze
should have remained on the monstrance, the foundation of our church. Instead I
imagined the softness of her legs, her arms, that hand so near to mine.

Addiction.
Temptation. Sin. It was real.

And my desire
trapped Honor in the middle of my battles. Man against faith. Reason against
passion. Need against vows.

“My mom’s been
sober for a year now.” Honor opened more and more. “And I hate to say it, but
it’s…strange. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t popping pills or
drinking. My mother is gone. Now she’s this…entirely different person. Someone
new
.”

“It’s a good
thing,” I said.

“I know. She’s
trying so hard to stay on the right path.”

“And you are good
to help her.”

She leaned against
the pew, her hands slipping, inching towards mine. “I’m not that good. I don’t
know how to help her. I left my college and lost my credits, but we don’t have
the money for a full-time tuition. I’ll be a part-time student for my senior year
while I find a better paying side job because…well, Mom can’t really start a
career. She…doesn’t have the right set of skills or references.”

She meant no one
would hire a woman with such a tragic, complicated history. “The church is
helping her.”

Honor didn’t want
to hear it. “No. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure we don’t need the
charity. I don’t mind working extra jobs.”

“Honor, the
programs exist to help women in her position.”

“I know. We won’t
need them.”

I frowned. “But you’re
studying to do social work. You, above all, should understand how much these
programs could help.”

“I do, Father. Believe
me. But we won’t accept it.”

“Why?”

“I can take care
of my mother. The charities should save their resources for others.”

It wasn’t a
completely honest answer, but I didn’t press any further. She shifted. Her
fingers accidentally grazed mine.

She stilled. So
did I.

“I don’t know what
I’m doing here,” she whispered.

“You’re home.
You’re helping your mother. You’re serving your community.”